


Somewhere near the end of the world

by dollylux



Series: Invisible Boy [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, M/M, POV Outsider, Protective Dean Winchester, Reunions, Season/Series 08, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean reunite with Sam's old flame, Dom. </p><p>(Time stamp for the Invisible Boy series.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere near the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bayani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayani/gifts).



> I pictured this being set somewhere in the middle of season eight. Before the trials really start, but after all the shitfest that was the beginning of season eight. (I just wanted Sam with the hair, so sue me.)
> 
> Just in case anyone was wondering, [this is how I've always pictured Dom.](http://sissydude.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/Joe-Manganiello-posted-before-picture-his-hair.jpg)
> 
> This story was written for bayani13 on LJ for the [Nepal Earthquake Fundraiser on FandomAid!](http://fandomaid.livejournal.com/71810.html) I hope you enjoy it, love. Thank you for being patient with me. <3

He should have known something was up when Sam disappeared after his phone rang, the sound of his retreating footsteps and his cautious "hello?" echoing in the study. Dean frowns down at the book he's got cradled in his arms, his strained eyes lifting to watch the long, narrow line of Sam's back as he walks away. He shrugs it off, looking back down to find his sentence. 

Sam returns after about twenty minutes, walking in like a nervous little kid, like he used to when he broke something or when he'd forgotten to turn in a homework assignment and had a paper for a parent (Dean) to sign. He's moving his phone from hand to hand as he shuffles back into the room, his head down, teeth worrying over his bottom lip. Dean narrows his eyes at it, wants to tell him to stop it. That's _his_ bottom lip, damnit. He's the only one allowed to bruise it up like that. 

"Sammy," he ventures, closing up the book around his finger and following his little brother with his eyes as he takes his place across from Dean at the table. "What's up? 'S it a job?"

Sam stays quiet, thumb rubbing over the screen on his phone where it rests on the table. Dean watches him with his hunter's eyes, taking in every detail of Sam's movements. Dean can already tell he's not gonna like whatever comes out of Sam's mouth, and he braces himself for anything. 

"Do you, uh." Sam clears his throat, glancing up at Dean from under a soft brown wing of hair. "Do you remember Dom? In Denver?"

Dean's body tenses so fast that the chair shifts on the floor, a tiny, quick shriek of sound that makes Sam jump. Dean lets the book fall closed, losing his place, and he pushes his chair back deliberately now, eyes fixed on the table, his arms folding right over his chest. Words crowd his throat, choke up tight around his heart that is racing fast and fearful. His face is flushed; he can feel it. Knows Sam can see it. Knows Sam can see what a fucking idiot he still is when he hears that asshole's name, when he even thinks about... thinks about. 

"Why?" His voice is like a bark, like a fist on a table, his jaw tensing and jumping while his leg bounces nervously and out of sight. "Sam, we promised. We swore we weren't ever gonna talk about--"

His throat closes up tight. He would be shaking if he wasn't so tense. "I can't... why?"

"Hey." The word is soft, and Dean feels it like one of Sam's big, warm hands on his burning cheek. "Look at me." There's a pause, several beats of quiet where Dean stays a coward, a child. Can't look up. "Dean."

Another sound of a chair scraping, but it's Sam this time. And then he's there beside him, crouched on the ground like a devout at Dean's feet, hands rubbing Dean's bare forearms, stroking over his punch-tight hands. Dean closes his eyes against the burn behind them. 

"I know it's stupid. I know I'm a fuckin' idiot about him, Sammy, but I just can't... why are you bringing him up now? After all this time?"

He opens his eyes to look down at Sam and he unfurls then, unclenches his hands to reach down for his baby brother who should never be kneeling at his feet like this, should never be below him. Never be below anyone. He tugs at Sam until he stands up and sits on the table next to Dean's book, lacing their strong fingers together and holding their clutched hands on his thigh. 

"Just listen, okay? That was Dom on the phone. I found him on Facebook not long ago, and--"

"You've been talking to him?" Dean loathes the suspicion in his voice, the immediate rise of anger there that makes him sound so much like Dad. He tries to pull his hand from Sam's, but Sam holds fast. 

"--And he's been telling me about Skylar, his fiancé. He's so in love with this guy, Dean. Head over heels. They've been dating for a couple of years, and they're planning on getting married this winter."

"Stupid time to be gettin' married," is all Dean can think to mumble, fingers flexing in Sam's grip. "Do they want everybody to be cold? And what kinda flowers can they find in the damn winter?"

"Anyway," Sam says, a smile spread all across the word. It makes Dean sigh. "He was wondering if we could come up for dinner sometime soon. Just catch up."

Dean's eyes jump up to meet Sam's, apparently so loaded with questions that Sam laughs, tugging their clasped hands up higher on his thigh. 

"Both of us? He wants me in his house? After I broke his face?"

"You didn't break his whole face, Dean. Just his nose."

"Oh, I shattered his cheekbone, too," Dean informs him, practically glaring at Sam. "Don't you let him lie. I bet he looks all jacked up now, too. Skylar's probably a dog."

"Dean! Jesus." Sam laughs but he looks incredulous, annoyed. His grip on Dean's hand never loosens. "He's _fine._ And he's over it. I'm glad at least _somebody's_ over it. He just wants to see us again. That's all."

Dean turns his glare to their hands, running the pad of his thumb over Sam's reddened knuckles, over the raised veins on the back of his hand. He's touched this hand countless times, watched it turn from a chubby, baby soft thing that gripped awkwardly at toys and blankets and Dean's He-Man shirt to a spindly, long-fingered teenaged hand that stayed closed in a protective fist or holding a pen that scratched maddeningly fast over a notebook page and finally to a man's hand, a hand that has killed hundreds and saved even more, that has taken Dean apart with mercenary-precision; effortless and deft and loving, always loving, even when it hurt. Always Dean's boy. Always familiar. Because Sam is his. 

"Does he know about us?" he finally asks, his voice soft, embarrassingly so. 

"Yeah. He has since I was in college. He figured it out." He cups Dean's hand with both of his own now, cradling it, surrounding it in warmth and lifelong familiarity. Dean scoots his chair back up to the table and curls down to rest his cheek on Sam's thigh, his eyes falling closed with a sigh. 

"He told Skylar we were married," Sam adds, folding his long body down to nuzzle at Dean's face, nose sliding across his temple and down his ear to his jaw where he kisses, soft and just once. "It's just dinner. And then we can leave."

Dean know what he's going to say before he says it, knows that he can never say no to Sam, not when he gets brave enough to ask for something like this. No matter how much it's going to hurt to face the man who is probably perfect for him, who could've given Sam everything that Dean never could. The man who actually deserves Sam. He'll go because it's what Sam wants.

"We're going to have to get rings, you know," he sighs, lifting his head to look up at Sam through his lashes, his chin digging into the meat of Sam's thigh. "I'm not goin' over there and letting him think I'm not a proper husband who didn't give you a ring."

Sam's grin is radiant, dimples digging in sharp as knives. He reaches down to cup either side of Dean's tired face, thumbs stroking over his mouth. Dean finds himself lifting up out of the chair to stand in front of Sam, their mouths nudging together as they continue to search each other's eyes. 

"I'm gonna suck your dick so good tonight you'll never forget it," Sam murmurs, that worried-raw bottom lip catching on Dean's top one. Dean's hands snatch out greedy and hungry and grip at Sam's lean body, at his narrow hips, pushing between Sam's spread thighs and digging up hard to get them pressed nice and tight.

"Why wait for tonight? We got time right now. You can even lay back on the table and let me fuck your mouth like that one time back in--"

"I bet you remember the damn date, don't you?" Sam's hands are pushing between them, shoving up Dean's shirt to get at the button on his jeans, the zipper. 

"Shut up and put that mouth to work, boy." Dean makes his voice low and gruff and a little mean, and the shiver that it drives up Sam's spine that ends in a moan against Dean's mouth makes it all worth it. 

Everything he does for Sammy is always worth it. 

 

“Honey, where did you put the tablecloth?”

“Which tablecloth?”

Dom sighs, closes his eyes, counts to ten. Forces calm into his voice.

“The only one we have? The one that belonged to my grandmother in Italy that had better not be lost?”

“Oh.” Skylar walks in with his hips moving in tight twitches like they always do, carrying a tray of carefully arranged bruschetta that he puts down on the coffee table in the livingroom. “Hmm. Isn’t it in the linen closet? It’s in one of those giant zip bags because you didn’t want anything happening to it. I was going to put it in the--”

Skylar’s voice trails off as Dom hurries to the hallway and roots around in the closet, sighing with relief when he _finally_ closes his hands around the protected tablecloth. Skylar is still talking even as he brings wine and glasses in and arranges them next to the tray of appetizers. 

“--told your mama that we need to get a wooden chest to put all that stuff in. You know the kind I’m talkin’ about? The ones that smell good that old ladies have?”

Dom spreads the lacy tablecloth out on the table, smoothing it out and making sure it’s even.

“A cedar chest?”

“Yeah! A cedar chest. Looks good, Papa.” Skylar grins as he wraps his thin arms around Dom from behind, giving him a squeeze and a kiss on the shoulder that makes Dom relax a little. He leans back against Skylar and rubs at his forearms. Skylar nuzzles into his neck and makes a happy humming sound. “You nervous?”

“No,” Dom lies immediately, heart racing at just the idea of seeing Sam Winchester. “No, I just haven’t seen them in so long. Just anxious, I guess.”

“Everything’ll be fine. You’ll see. Just relax. They’re your friends, I’m sure--”

The doorbell rings. Dom freezes, eyes widening.

“Shit.”

“Go! Go ahead. I’ll set the table real quick. Here, turn around.” Skylar bodily moves Dom even though he’s quite a bit smaller than him in every single way, intent blue eyes meeting Dom’s dark ones as Skylar gives him a once-over; straightening his collar and smoothing a stray hair down behind his ear. He beams up at Dom, and Dom can’t help but smile back. “Perfect. Love you.”

Dom leans down, gathering his sweet boy up in his arms and giving him an invasive, hungry kiss that lasts just a beat too long because the doorbell interrupts them.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbles against Skylar’s lips, making Skylar grin before he pushes Dom away. 

He closes his eyes when his hand touches the doorknob, taking a deep breath that does nothing to calm him. There’s nothing to do but face it. He opens the door.

Dean hasn’t changed in the slightest, not in height or beauty or even his haircut. It’s like twelve years falls away in an instant when those wary green eyes meet his own, a matching, hesitant smile lifting on that generous mouth.

“Heya, Dom.”

Sam is right there behind Dean, looking more like a very tall child than a protector with the way his shoulders are curled in, head ducked just enough to be painfully reminiscent of that aching eighteen year old boy he fell in love with. He’s massive now, tall and powerful as a tree, his hair so long and falling soft against his cheeks and his shoulders, his eyes still quick and all-seeing and every color in the world without being any one of them, all at once. 

It feels like everything stops when their eyes finally meet, like Dean isn’t there at all, like Skylar is still back home in Kentucky and like maybe Sam had decided to stay, had said yes to everything Dom had ever offered him, like it’s just the two of them and--

“This is the right house, right?” Dean makes a show of looking around, and heat floods Dom’s cheeks as he blinks back into the present, into reality.

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry. Wow, you two are just… damn. I’ve told you before: gorgeous genes. Hey, man.” He steps back to let Dean into the house and he pulls him into a cautious hug, the one-armed kind that straight guys across America do every single day. Dom is still looking at Sam behind him, caught in those eyes just like he used to be, like he was from the first time he met Sam.

Dean finally steps aside and Sam walks into the house, about the same height as Dom and just as broad across the shoulders. He’s drop-dead gorgeous, the kind of guy Dom would get into a fender-bender staring at if he saw him walking down the street. Sam’s nervous face breaks out into a slow smile and he’s stepping in and wrapping his arms around Dom, and oh, shit. Oh, shit.

“God, Sam,” he breathes, tears burning in his eyes as he returns the hug with everything in him, arms trembling with the force of it. “God, beautiful boy, look at you. Just look at you.”

Sam is leaning down a little to hug him, and their bodies are pressed together tightly, intimately in the way Dom has realized that men who love other men hug: without fear of their hips touching, without worrying about looking gay. Because, well.

Sam pulls back after a long moment, and Dom has to blink the tears out of his eyes as he meets Sam’s smile with a dazed one of his own. He glances over and sees that all-too familiar frown on Dean’s face, the one he should have been able to recognize all those years ago as being possessive and annoyed. He takes a respectful step back, hands shoving into his pockets so he doesn’t reach for Sam’s long body again.

“It’s so good to see you two. Wow, you are both just… you’re models, right? Or at least porn stars? Am I right?”

Dean snorts, a wry grin pulling at his mouth as he shakes his head.

“You wish, man.”

“You have no idea.” Dom winks at Dean just as Skylar bustles in, excited grin on his face. 

“Introduce me, Dom! God, you didn’t tell me they were beautiful!” Skylar looks so tiny in the room with three men over six feet tall, his long brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, blue eyes shining as he grins at Sam who speaks before Dom can gather his wits and his words, stepping forward with a bright smile as he shakes Skylar’s hand.

“I’m Sam.” He sounds nervous, keeps glancing at Dom even as Dean crowds in closer to Sam’s side, chest nearly touching Sam’s shoulder. “This is my husband, Dean.”

Dean looks up at Sam then, eyes wide for a split second but he recovers quickly, gives Skylar a surprisingly genuine smile as he shakes his hand.

“Good to meet you. Thanks for, uh. For askin’ us over.” Dean steps back next to Sam again, a hand stealing up to rub at Sam’s back as he looks from Skylar and back to Dom. Sam seems to relax immediately, somehow nestling into Dean’s side despite his height. It makes Dom ache, a painful tug right in the center of his chest.

“Yeah, it’s, um.” Dom reaches for Skylar, lacing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, not able to meet Sam or Dean’s eyes as he gathers his emotions back up and tucks them down tight. “Glad to have you all here. Dinner is nothing fancy, just spaghetti, but it’s my mom’s recipe, so it’s only the best in the world.”

“I had your mom’s spaghetti once,” Sam says suddenly, his voice strange, far-off. Dom’s grip tightens on Skylar’s hand without even realizing it. “When… that summer.”

“Yeah, I must’ve had leftovers one day or something,” Dom says with a smile like he doesn’t remember every second with Sam Winchester, like he didn’t remember that and hoped Sam would, like he doesn’t still talk to his mom about Sam some days when he just can’t keep it in. “The garlic bread is in the oven. It’ll be done in about five minutes, so--”

“Do y’all want some wine? I’m so excited I get to play hostess! Dom wouldn’t let me wear my frilly apron.” Skylar pouts so dramatically that Dom smirks, letting go of his hand to swat at his ass.

“You’re plenty sassy without your apron, babe. I promise.” He kisses Skylar’s temple before he walks over and pulls the cork from the red wine he’d bought last night on the way home from work, pouring all four glasses over half-full and handing one to the others before picking up the last one himself. “I hope this stuff is okay. I’m more of a beer drinker despite my family’s best attempts.”

Dean actually laughs at that, something that makes Dom relax the tiniest bit and somehow able to meet Dean’s eyes as he lifts his glass to toast.

“Saluti.”

“Cheers,” Dean echoes, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking a long sip. “Mm. You should like this, Sam. It tastes sweet and pretentious.”

Sam snorts and nudges Dean, something that seems to delight Skylar.

“God, you two are so cute. Sit down, will you? And eat these hor'dourves? Speaking of pretentious!” Skylar sits on the arm of the chair that Dom settles into, reaching over to push the plate toward Sam and Dean. Dean doesn’t hesitate to grab up a thick slice of bread piled high with tomato salad and caramelized balsamic vinegar, and Dom is man enough to admit that he puffs up with pride at the way Dean moans the second he bites into it.

“Sammy, sorry. I think I’m gonna have to divorce you and marry Dom here after all.” Dean’s still chewing as he makes to stand up and join Dom in his chair, but Sam reaches up and snags him by a loop on his jeans, grinning as he pulls him down back to his side on the couch.

“You know you’re stuck with me ‘til we die, shitty cook or not.” Sam grins as he searches Dean’s eyes, the light in Sam’s somehow bright and soft all at once. They lean forward at the same time and kiss, sweet and simple and lingering, and Sam’s cheeks are flushed pink as he pulls away, licking his lips. “Mm. The bruschetta _is_ good.”

“Don’t worry, babe. You burn chili better than anybody else I ever met.” Dean tenses, braced for the punch on the arm Sam delivers before he grabs a slice of bruschetta for himself, his whole face lit up bright, easy and happy. Dom watches them, transfixed, instantly comparing it to the tension that used to exist between them, the pain that was always brimming under the surface, choked with unsaid words that Dom only understood after that fateful phone call with Sam after he’d left for Stanford.

Dom has never known anyone else that has fallen in love with their brother, but he’s also never known anyone who loved anybody else like Sam loves Dean. (And after he spent the night in the hospital when Dean had decided to pay him a visit all those years ago, he’d realized that the love was returned, every single bit of it.)

“How did you two meet?” Skylar is watching them with a dazed, dreamy smile, licking balsamic vinegar off his fingers. Dom watches with the tiniest bit of relish as Sam and Dean freeze at the question even though Sam recovers quicker than Dom expected.

“Oh, when we were young. Practically grew up together. Dean’s been lookin’ out for me since I was little.” He doesn’t look over at Dean but they shift closer together without even seeming to realize it, their thighs pressed tight together, shoulders and arms following suit. Dom notices the silver ring shining on Sam’s left hand for the first time. There’s a matching one on Dean’s hand.

“Dean was, uh, doing work with Sam’s dad when they passed through town that summer,” Dom adds, trying to be helpful though his voice is strained, falsely cheerful. He looks down at the plate of appetizers and can’t muster up any hunger at all. “I’d never seen two people more in love with each other.”

Sam and Dean both stop to look at him then, Sam touched, tears sparking immediately in his eyes while Dean’s face is guarded, unreadable. Dean’s hand slides over into Sam’s lap to find its mate, fingers lacing immediately, gripping tight, squeezing in what seems to be reassurance.

“And you’re still in love after all these years. It’s like a damn country song,” Skylar sighs, taking a long drink of his wine and stretching his legs out over Dom’s lap. “I hope me and Dominic are like that someday. We just met a couple of years ago, but I fell head over heels. I mean, he saved my life.”

Dom rolls his eyes playfully, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I don’t think replacing your transmission counts as saving your life, Sky.”

“It was burnin’ up hot on the 4th of July two summers ago. I was drivin’ back home to Kentucky from California, and I swear, my car just blew up right as I was comin’ into Denver. Smoke everywhere. I thought my car was on fire, right there on the interstate. It was awful!”

“He’s being dramatic,” Dom feels the need to add, his hands coming to rest on Skylar’s little bare feet in his lap, rubbing at them adoringly as he smiles up at his fiancé. 

“Anyway, _nobody_ was open ‘cause it was the 4th, you know. I called and called, and finally this one place rings through to another number instead of going to voicemail. And guess who answers?”

“The only workaholic dumb enough to answer his phone on a holiday?” Dean is grinning behind his wine glass, and Dom laughs for that, trying to shoot him a glare through it.

“Hey now,” he warns.

“He arranged a tow truck and met me down at the shop himself. God, he was so gorgeous. In a white t-shirt, arm muscles ripplin’ like he was posing for some mechanic porn novel--”

“Jesus, Sky--”

“--All sweaty and smellin’ like the grill. He took me out for dinner that night because I didn’t know a soul in town.” Skylar’s hand sinks into the thick, dark waves of Dom’s hair, nails dragging across his scalp in the way that always makes Dom practically purr. “And I’ve been here ever since. Been his ever since, too.”

“Speaking of a country song,” Dean says with a laugh, but it’s a kind one, punctuated with a lift of his glass before he drains the last of the wine from it. “But seriously, that’s awesome. Glad you kids found each other.”

“I’m a good three years older than you, Dean,” Dom reminds him.

“And seven years older than Sam,” Dean shoots back with seeming innocence, but three out of the four people in the room know exactly what he means. “I remember.”

“See, Dean? I always told you you were good at math.” Sam pours more wine in all of their glasses, his smile strained with the tension that has spiked up between Dom and Dean.

Dom gets the feeling it’s going to be a long evening.

 

\----

“And Isabella’s married now, too. Has three kids.” Dom has his phone out and is showing Sam and Dean pictures over their empty plates after dinner; Isabella with her mildly unattractive husband and their three beautiful, dark-eyed kids. Sam’s expression draws carefully blank as Dean stares at Isabella in the picture for probably too long, making a thoughtful, humming sound in his throat.

“Still gorgeous, isn’t she? Jesus.” Dean wipes his mouth on his napkin, finally blinking away and glancing over at Sam almost guiltily. “I’m… I’m happy for her. Glad she found a guy who loves her.”

Sam says nothing, has been quiet for most of the evening, actually. Dinner had been kept light and easy with conversations about cars and marathoning shows on Netflix and weird people Sam and Dean have met on the road over the years, and Skylar can’t get enough of any stories he can draw out of either of them.

Dom finishes yet another glass of wine, feeling plenty drunk and warm now, to the point where he relishes how uncomfortable Sam looks at the thought of Isabella, the girl Dean had fucked all those years ago and the reason Sam had been upset enough to come home with Dom that unforgettable night.

“Did you know Isa, too?” Skylar is tipsy and all grins, practically sitting on Dom’s lap as he picks at a piece of garlic bread. “She’s such a cutie. And great tits, good lord.”

“Right?” Dean’s eyes widen after he seems to realize how quickly and emphatically he agreed. He clears his throat and reaches for the nearly empty bottle of wine, pouring the rest of it into his glass. “From what I can remember.”

“Where’s the restroom?” Sam stands up suddenly, startling everyone, but Dom reacts first.

“I’ll show you.” He carefully avoids Dean’s eyes as he rises to his feet, setting his napkin on the table and walking around to catch Sam gently above the elbow, guiding him toward the hallway. Skylar stands up after they do and talks obliviously about how hard it is to open wine bottles as he grabs the last one, and Dom lets out the breath he’d been holding when he gets Sam out of view of the dining room.

Sam sighs and leans back against the wall in the dark hallway, his eyes falling closed as he rakes his hands through his long, soft hair. God, he’s so beautiful that Dom can’t do anything but stare. He was beautiful back then, too, but now he’s just. Magnificent.

“Are you alright?” He keeps his voice soft, making sure Dean can’t hear it. There’s a tiredness in Sam’s eyes that Dom hadn’t noticed before, a droop to his shoulders that he knows isn’t just because of whatever is happening here tonight. He wonders what Sam has been up to since he spoke to him last when he was back at Stanford, when he had disappeared off the face of the earth until that miraculous message on Facebook a couple of months ago.

“This is just,” Sam starts quietly, taking a deep breath that seems to pull all the air from the hallway. He sighs. “This is just hard. For both of us. We’ve never really dealt with… with anything that happened here. In Denver.”

“It had to have been a long drive up,” Dom comments, trying to keep his voice light. “Surely there was time to talk about things.”

“You don’t really understand how…” Sam trails off, glances back toward the dining room with those eyes of his. He licks his lips, finally looks back at Dom. “Things haven’t ever been easy for us. Ever.”

“I remember.” Dom smiles but he knows it’s sad. He reaches over to run a savoring hand up Sam’s forearm, wishing so badly he could pull him close, get a hand on his narrow waist, touch his warm, bare skin again, just once. Just one more time. He gives his arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry if this has been a tough experience for you. I just wanted to see you again, no matter the circumstances.”

Sam had been the one who insisted on bringing Dean, who wanted to meet Skylar, who didn’t want to meet halfway between here and anywhere, just the two of them. Dom hates himself for it, but he knows he would have fucked Sam Winchester in any motel in America and married Skylar in December without saying a word about it. 

Nearly a decade and a half later, he still hasn’t figured out how to fall out of love with Sam.

“Sorry this has been weird.” Sam’s voice isn’t low but it’s broad, powerful, an expansive rumble in a broad chest. He wonders what he looks like under that thin t-shirt now, if he still spreads his legs just as beautifully as he did that one night when Dom almost, almost had him. Almost. “It is good to see you, Dom.”

“This feels like a dream,” Dom whispers, taking a step closer to Sam, hand running up to his bicep, fingertips bumping over the veins jumping there. Their chests are nearly touching, and they’re standing too close and he knows it, much too close with--

“What kind of house has a bathroom in the hallway?” Dean is there only feet away, shattering whatever moment Dom had been hoping to have and making him step back from Sam like he’d been burned. Sam stays where he is against the wall, stays quiet in the shadows of the dark hall, his eyes on Dean now and not leaving, not even blinking.

“Skylar can’t find the bottle opener,” Dean continues, his eyes locked on Sam’s even as he speaks to Dom. “He said you had it last.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I, um.” Dom swallows thickly, his heart thumping loud and hard in his throat, but he finally tears his eyes away from Sam. He leaves them without another word, doesn’t really know what to say to Dean in the first place. There’s no real way to apologize for being in love with a man who belongs to someone else.

His smile is shaky when he returns to Skylar, and Skylar’s face melts into concern when he sees him.

“Hey,” Skylar says softly, reaching for him with two soft hands that stroke over his scruffy cheeks. “You okay?”

“Oh, I was just, um. Talking to Sam about his dad. He still gets emotional about it, and.” Dom shrugs, the lie tearing at his chest and spreading like a poison across his ribs. He’ll go to confession tomorrow just like he does every Sunday, he’ll whisper quiet secrets to the priest and get his penance and go home to think the same sinful thoughts, to tell the same lies, to try every single day to overcome it and fail.

“You’re such a sweetheart, you big softie.”

Skylar’s smile is sweeter than anything Dom deserves, the kiss that follows even more so. They locate the bottle opener and Skylar fills their glasses again, already pink-cheeked and giggling as he clinks his glass with Dom’s and kisses him with a wine-stained mouth. Dom almost doesn’t hear when Sam and Dean come back into the room, Sam’s cheeks damp with tears and Dean’s face drawn, tired. Their mouths are damp, slightly swollen from kisses. He can remember with painful clarity what Sam’s mouth tastes like, what his sweet insides taste like. He’ll never forget. He’ll die remembering.

“There y’all are! We found the--”

“I think we’re going to head out,” Dean interrupts, his eyes trained on Dom. “Sam’s not feelin’ too good, and I want to get him home.”

“Oh, Sam! Are you alright? I hope it wasn’t the food! I made sure to buy all organic and--” 

“It wasn’t the food, Skylar,” Sam is quick to assure him, giving him a tired smile that doesn’t get anywhere near his eyes. “I think I’ve been coming down with something for awhile. It’s just finally caught up to me, I guess.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dom says quietly, not brave enough to look Sam or Dean in the eye, both hands clutched around his wine glass.

Skylar fusses over Sam, offering him medicine and Southern home remedies as he packs up half of the caramel apple ricotta cheesecake he and Dom had made earlier in the day for Sam and Dean to take home. 

Dusk has settled in by the time they make their way outside, Sam showing Skylar where he can put the sweetly boxed-up dessert in the backseat. Dom stands with Dean on the front porch in silence, both of them looking out at the other two men and not saying a word for a long moment. There’s tension thrumming from Dean that Dom can practically feel, and he’s reminded once again that he doesn’t really know this man, that Dean can be dangerous when he feels threatened; Dom’s crooked nose is more than proof of that.

“I’m sorry,” Dom says simply, the muggy air closing up around the words, nearly stifling them. Dean doesn’t reply right away, just watches Sam talk to Skylar, his hands tucked in his pockets.

“You never knew him. Not really.” Dean’s voice is hard and unapologetic, his jaw jumping with tension. Dom looks over at him, eyebrows raised.

“Actually, I did,” Dom replies, turning to face Dean, taking what is probably a brave step closer to him. “We were quite close when he was at Stanford. When he had no one. When you fell off the face of the earth and wouldn’t speak to him for years. _I_ was the one who was there for him, the one he called when he couldn’t sleep. When he didn’t have money for food. Me.”

Dean lets out a breath of laughter that is utterly void of humor, a smile tugging on his beautiful face that just makes him look even more dangerous, somehow.

“You will never understand what that was like. Not for me, not for him. And it’s not your place to. So, you should just shut the fuck up about it.”

Dom’s entire body is shaking with anger, and he takes a deep breath as he meets Dean’s eyes, the instinctive, alpha male part of him trying to remind Dean that he’s bigger than him, several inches taller. It’s all Dom has as a challenge for Dean and he knows it.

“I loved him. I _still_ love him, if you want to know the truth. I only ever wanted what was best for him, which is why I respected when Sam told me that he was with you, that you _finally_ woke up and saw that how he was feeling for you was killing him. Which is why I respected him that night when he came to me because you’d broken his heart. I’ve only ever been here to pick up the pieces of what you’ve done, Dean. And I’ll be here when you do it again.”

Dom finds himself dragged back into the house, a clenched fist stretching out his nice henley as the door slams behind him again. He grunts when his back hits the closed door and then Dean’s bright green eyes are only inches from his own, his teeth bared like he’s feral. He looks wild and deadly, just like he had that night all those years before. Dom, in spite of everything that’s changed, is just as terrified as he was then.

“Don’t you ever talk to me about Sam. Not me. You can hold that fuckin’ candle for him until you die, but don’t you ever think that you came close. There are parts of Sam you’ll never understand, parts of him that would fuckin’ terrify you. Those parts are for me and only me. Every single part of Sam is mine. Just like I’m his. And it’s who we’ve always fuckin’ been, who we will always be, no matter what. I’ve been through too much--”

Dean stops suddenly, those bright eyes flooded with sudden and unexpected tears. He sucks in a breath that sounds like a sob, his grip on Dom’s shirt renewing in its force.

“ _We_ have been through _too much_ for anything to ever tear us apart again. Because, buddy, if the Devil himself couldn’t do it, you sure as fuck ain’t going to.”

Dom sees stars for a minute as Dean slams him back against the wall one more time before releasing him, letting him catch a full breath for the first time in a long moment. He stares at Dean in shock, not even sure how to process what he’d just said, no sure where to begin to unpack it. Dean doesn’t give him time to.

“You say goodbye to him. You say goodbye and mean it. You marry Skylar and have a happy fucking life, because Sam is taken. He’s not an option for you, got it?”

“How does it feel to fuck your brother?” It’s the one vicious thing Dom has left, his last bullet. And he’s too torn apart right now to care about the consequences of saying it. Dean sneers at him, lovely face pulled into disdain and what looks incredibly like pity.

“Better than heaven,” comes the reply just as Dean’s hand lights on the doorknob. “Trust me.”

He’s gone again with the clatter of the door closing behind him and the loud thump of his boots on freshly painted wood planks. There’s muffled conversation and the slamming of car doors, and another set of boots making their way up slowly onto the porch. Sam.

Dom takes a deep breath and prepares for a goodbye that he knows will slowly kill him. This is what he will die from, even if it’s fifty years from now. But he’ll do it because he was telling Dean the truth: he only wants Sam to be happy.

 

Night has fallen by the time the passenger door creaks open and Sam’s weight sinks into the seat next to Dean. Lightning flashes across the sky, thunder rumbling low in the distance. Dean can smell rain in the air even if it hasn’t hit yet. They don’t say a word for a long moment, letting the silence and the darkness fold up around them until it feels like Dean’s going to suffocate.

“He’s still in love with you,” Dean finally says, and it comes out as a whisper, defeated instead of fierce like he wanted it to sound. He left all the fight back inside that house.

“I know.” Sam is tucked up near the door, staring straight ahead, and that combined with the smell in the air makes it feel like the summer before Stanford all over again, like Sam is just a breath away from leaving again. It makes Dean feel frantic, makes his throat choke up around everything he wants to say, all the pleas he has stored up, everything he needs to promise to keep Sam with him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t always love you the right way.” The words tremble thin in the quiet between them, and Dean can hear the soft gasps of his own breath as he tries to keep from crying. “I’m sorry if you can’t stop loving me even though I don’t deserve you.”

“Dean,” Sam breathes, the entire world sucking in a much-needed breath as Sam moves toward him, breaks through the invisible barrier between them inside the car and reaches for Dean. Dean drags Sam into his lap as best as he can, he tangles them up together across the bench seat so they can pull and grasp at each other, so that Sam can get small again and bury his face in Dean’s neck where he likes to hide, where he feels safe enough to talk. Dean just holds him, just clutches at him and tucks his face into the soft mess of Sam’s hair and savors him. Their lives don’t allow anything to be taken for granted.

“Nothing between us is about deserving or keeping score,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s neck, against skin made wet by Sam’s hidden tears. Dean’s tired fingers stroke through Sam’s hair, taming it down and soothing him as Sam struggles for more words. “There is nothing I have ever wanted but you. Nothing anyone else could have given me. Nothing I could have taken. No one I have ever known. There isn’t anything but you.”

“But h-he could have made you happy,” Dean grits out, chest jumping with shudders of trapped breaths under Sam’s weight on him. “I know it. He cares about you and he’s stable and safe and--”

“And he will never know what it’s like to hold my heart in his bare hands.” Sam lifts up, eyes shining like a wild thing in the dark, in another flash of lightning that makes him look otherworldly, makes him look impossible. Dean reaches up to slide a hand over Sam’s smooth, warm cheek. Sam clutches at his hand, turns to bury his face against Dean’s palm, pressing kisses there, over the cold metal on his ring finger that tells a lie of marriage. “I don’t see anyone in the world but you, Dean. Never have, and I never will.”

“Even if I can’t make perfect pasta?”

Sam’s laugh is watery and beautiful, his smile a bright movement in the night inside the car. He sinks his teeth into the the pad of Dean’s thumb, gnawing gentle just for a second before he kisses it.

“Even though your pasta is always mushy and bland. I love you anyway.”

“I love you, too.” The words are still hard for Dean to say, always feel like they’re being heard by some outside force, being kept in some hidden notebook to break out and use against him, against them. He can’t help but give them to Sam tonight, here in this unexpected moment of healing in the city where Dean felt more pain than almost anywhere else. He accepts Sam’s mouth against his own, the raw heat of him and the slick dance of his tongue. They kiss until Sam is quiet against him, still and soft as he can be outside of sleep. They separate as much as they need to for Dean to be able to drive, but Sam stays pressed right up against Dean, tucked up against him, face nestled where it belongs. Neither of them look toward the house again. The rain starts to fall then; warm, summer rain that lands in loud, fat drops on the metal and glass of the Impala and seeps into Dean’s bare arm where it rests on the open window.

He starts up the car and drives them into the storm.


End file.
